The sun dipped low over the Outer Banks, casting gold across the waves as you sat on the dock, arms wrapped around your knees. The salty breeze tangled in your hair, but you barely noticed. Your eyes were locked on the road, waiting.

Then, the unmistakable roar of Rafe Cameron’s dirt bike shattered the quiet.

He pulled up beside you, the scent of gasoline and cigarettes clinging to him. His jaw was tight, his hair a mess like he’d been running from something—or someone.

“Where were you?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe scoffed, kicking the stand down. “Why do you care?”

You inhaled sharply. Same game, different day. “Because I’m your girlfriend, Rafe.”

He smirked, stepping closer. “Yeah? And?”

Your stomach twisted. You knew exactly what he was—reckless, arrogant, a playboy with a dangerous streak. Sarah, your best friend, had warned you a million times.

“He’s not good for you,” she’d said. “You can’t fix him.”

JJ, your brother, had nearly lost it when he found out. “Of all the guys on this island, you pick him?”

John B shook his head, Pope avoided the subject, and even Kie had sighed, “Be careful.”

But they didn’t see what you did.

The boy behind closed doors. The one who kissed you slow, who pulled you against his chest when he thought no one was looking. The one who, despite everything, kept choosing you.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “Barry’s waiting.”

Of course.

“You should stay,” you murmured.

His laugh was dry. “And do what? Talk about our feelings?”

“You’re such an ass,” you muttered.

He grabbed your chin, tilting your face up. “And you love me anyway.”

Damn him.

A car screeched up—Topper and Kelce. “Let’s go, man!”

Rafe hesitated, just for a second. Then he let go.

“Later, babe.”

And just like that, he was gone.